


Love is Madness

by Canttouchthis, LeilahMoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Dark Hermione Granger, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gaslighting, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Obsessive Hermione Granger, Sexual Assault, Unreliable Narrator, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28898997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis/pseuds/Canttouchthis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeilahMoon/pseuds/LeilahMoon
Summary: ---[She knew from the moment she saw him, that they belonged together]Hermione Granger waited patiently for six years but, when she sees an opportunity, she won't let Draco Malfoy slip away.A tale of dark obsession.---The title for this work comes from 'Love is Madness' by Thirty Seconds to Mars.---
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 308
Kudos: 189





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> We're super excited to be starting this dark!Hermione story and would love to hear your thoughts as we go along! We've tried to include everything in the tags but please feel free to send us a message if you have any questions or just want to check something out.  
> The plan is to update once a week 😊

She knew she shouldn’t watch him, knew it was wrong. And yet – and _yet_ , she felt physically unable to stop herself. She was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame; something so vibrant and bright that, try as she might, she couldn’t look away.

This wasn’t some childish infatuation. She craved him, orbited him, _knew_ him.

The very first time she noticed him was before they had even arrived at the castle. She had been marching up and down the Hogwarts Express, helping Neville Longbottom find his toad, when a flash of platinum blonde hair caught her attention. 

Stepping towards the crowded compartment she saw him gesticulating wildly, regaling his peers with an entertaining story. He looked animated, exciting, interesting, and his _smile_ … she felt the corner of her lip pull up at the memory, and her heart fluttered as she remembered the moment their eyes locked. 

That was it for her. She knew from then on that they were destined to be together – she felt it deep within her soul.

She had reluctantly turned her back on him then and stared out of the train window on the pretence of watching the grey Scottish highlands blur past, covertly listening to their conversation. She learnt that his name was Draco Malfoy and he was likely destined to be sorted into the Slytherin. 

It was for this reason that she had been so devastated when that tattered old hat had been thrust upon on her head, and any esteem he might have held for her had been irrevocably shattered.

“ _GRYFFINDOR!_ ” it had yelled, as though this were something to be proud of.

She recalled in excruciating detail what it had felt like when the proclamation had been made, when the table of red had cheered – the lurching drop in her stomach, the lead-like feeling within her limbs. She’d had no choice but to stand and smile, as though this was exactly what she hoped for all along.

And that was the way she had lived for so many years, existing amongst idiots whilst knowing that the one person who was truly her equal resided so near, yet so out of reach.

Despite the missteps she might have made along the way, Rita Skeeter’s imprisonment being the most obvious, she had somehow managed to retain her persona as Harry Potter’s quiet and retiring book-worm friend, preoccupied with the library and little else. However much this might have frustrated her at times, she silently enjoyed knowing how effectively she could manipulate the poor fools – convince them that she was just like them.

Each night, before she allowed herself to dream of him, she would congratulate herself on a job well done, on making it through another day. After all, no one suspected the salacious thoughts she indulged in as she sucked on the tip of her sugar quill, gazing at him out of the corner of her eye. They had no idea how fast her pulse raced when he gently turned the pages of his textbook, her breath catching as he flexed and stretched.

And then, when she was ready, she would relive every moment they had spent together. The times she turned and caught him scowling in her direction, the harsh words he threw her way because he yearned for her attention. Or, her particular favourite, the time she had caressed his cheek in third year under the guise of a slap. She’d felt his breath hitch and recognised the heated look he’d given her, the underlying want. This memory would inevitably lead to one hand trailing up to palm her breast, the other slipping beneath her knickers.

She tried so hard not to be angry when she saw him with his hand pressed into Pansy Parkinson’s robes, her fingers tangled in his hair. It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t know how she felt about him; if he did, she knew he would be as devoted to her as she was to him. And so, she would take deep breaths, gently rub the beads of her bracelet against her wrist, and hold the piece of blonde hair she’d recovered from him in fourth year – allowing the feel of him to soothe her.

She knew that if he realised she was an option, if he knew the depth of her feelings, how her very soul ached for him, he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her.

Unfortunately, there was no easy way for her to express such sentiments. She’d considered trapping him behind a tapestry, or dragging him into an alcove, pressing her lips against his and letting their raw passion consume them. But no, the risk was too great. However certain she was of their fate, she needed to be patient and wait for the opportune moment.

And so, she bided her time. She memorised his habits and movements, and examined his words and facial expressions, until she could guess when he’d raise his hand in class, which routes around the castle he preferred. 

She understood him like no one else. 

And, eventually, after years of study, she began to formulate a plan. One that would mean they could finally be together.

Together. Together _at last_.

Nothing was going to stop her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've been blown away by the support we've received after posting the prologue, so thank you! We really hope you enjoy this next chapter 😊
> 
> Also, big thanks to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) for being a fabulous beta!
> 
> Next update will be on Thursday 4th Feb

Hermione couldn’t _stand_ Harry’s so-called ‘obsession’ with Draco Malfoy, not when he truly had no idea what a real obsession looked like. She knew everything there was to know about Draco because she _cared_ – he was her number one priority, her first thought in the morning and her last at night. She didn’t watch him because it was ‘convenient’, or because he’d made a snide remark, she did it because her entire world revolved around him.

She had a routine. She went to the Great Hall at specific intervals to ensure their paths crossed, allowing her to judge his mood, examine the circles beneath his eyes. He had started going to the library alone on Tuesdays and Sundays during fifth year, and so she had found the perfect table in the back corner that allowed her to watch him for hours on end.

It was one of her favourite things to do – to sit and watch him without fear of discovery, a quiet time she could simply imagine him beside her. Perhaps they’d read a book together and, beneath the table, he’d skim his fingers along her thigh, whispering endearments in her ear. Or maybe he’d push her up against the bookshelves, so desperate for her that he’d take her right there in the stacks.

Harry just didn’t understand him at all. He whined about ' _Malfoy this, and Malfoy that'_ , and occasionally pulled out that wretched Marauder’s Map, as though simply checking on him from time to time could possibly divulge anything of importance. And, of course, the moment a shiny object like Ginny Weasley or a game of Quidditch distracted him, Harry suddenly stopped caring about Draco.

Hermione knew, however, that true obsession wasn’t something you could simply turn on and off – it was all consuming. Draco’s every word and every breath affected her like nothing else. He didn’t know it, of course, but just a hint of his scent, or the sound of his laugh, could set her heart on fire. He was her raison d’etre, and she would never allow something as banal as _Quidditch_ to distract her from him.

She had often considered stealing the Map from Harry, imagining what it would be like to _really_ follow Draco’s every move. Irrespective of her diligence, there were still moments throughout the day when even she didn’t know where he was. With the Map in her possession, she would be able to see when he was in bed, or when he was taking a bath… Hermione’s heart pounded as she imagined ‘accidentally’ walking into the Prefects’ bathroom and finding him unclothed. The thought alone was enough to dampen her knickers.

It was inordinately clear that she, unlike Harry, was devoted to her obsession. And so, when she noticed him eyeing the Map yet again that evening, Hermione was more than simply disgruntled. Whilst she was self-aware enough to recognise her annoyance most likely stemmed from jealousy, she maintained that it was entirely unfair for Harry to be able to watch Draco’s movements each night while she could only rely on her memories.

She was pulled abruptly from her reverie when Harry muttered, “ _Mischief Managed_ ” and stood as though ready to make a move from the common room.

Hermione instantly recognised his look of determination and stepped in front of him. “Where’re you going?”

He stalled. “What?”

“Where,” she rolled her eyes, Gryffindors were _so_ mind-numbing, “are you going?”

“Oh… well, Malfoy’s on the move again – thought I ought to see where he’s off to?”

Hermione thought fast. If Draco was alone somewhere outside of the dungeons, this would be the perfect opportunity to make a move. She just needed to come up with a believable explanation for why she should go in Harry’s place. “What if I went?” she offered. “I am a Prefect after all, so I’m allowed out after curfew.”

Harry looked sceptical. “Really, ‘Mione? He’s dangerous.”

She almost laughed out loud. The idea that Draco Malfoy would ever harm her was preposterous. “You know I can take care of myself.”

There was an awkward pause as he watched her closely, before finally responding. 

“Alright,” he conceded. “I suppose that makes sense.” Harry walked back to her, holding out the Map. “Look here – I don’t know why, but he’s standing in the boys’ bathroom on the sixth floor.”

Hermione leant forward; he was right. And, not only that, but Draco’s tiny, labelled dot was accompanied by Moaning Myrtle. She shuddered, desperately trying not to become jealous of a _ghost_.

She said a brief goodbye to Harry and grabbed the Map, thrusting it into her ever-present satchel, and headed to the portrait hole.

Her pulse was racing as she walked through the familiar hallways. After years of stealing glances and being forced to only interact with Draco under the scrutiny of her classmates, she would finally have the opportunity to be completely alone with him. 

Passing portraits and skipping down staircases, she wondered what he would say when he saw her. Would his eyes bulge and his hand float to his wand? Would he threaten her, perhaps grab her wrists and push her against a wall until she confessed how she had come upon him?

Finally outside the bathroom, heart pounding, she pressed her ear against the door, but couldn’t hear anything. Quietly, oh so quietly, she crossed the threshold.

Draco stood with his back to her, hands clutching either side of the sink, white-blonde head bowed. She pictured his shoulder muscles beneath his shirt, broad and taut, and wondered what it would feel like to have her fingernails scrape against them. Her breath hitched as she continued watching him, imagining him without his robes.

“Don’t,” came Moaning Myrtle’s whine, her voice echoing from one of the cubicles. “Don’t! Tell me what’s wrong… I can help you…”

“No one can help me,” Draco muttered. His whole body was shaking. “I can’t do it… it won’t work… and unless I do it soon… he says he’ll kill me.”

Hermione jolted from her musings, worry seeping through her, as she realised that he was _crying_ – actually crying – tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin. In all her years of watching him, she had never, ever, seen him cry.

Draco gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror and saw her staring at him over his shoulder.

He whirled around, blinking and fumbling for his wand. 

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” she called out, easily catching his wand in her hand. His eyes were red, and the dark circles etched beneath them were even more pronounced than they had been the day before. She resisted the urge to run to him, press her face into his hair, and soothe him. 

Hermione wordlessly banished Myrtle from the bathroom; after all, she needed Draco to herself for the plan to work. Because this was it, the moment she had been waiting for. She knew he wouldn’t ordinarily have allowed himself to be so easily disarmed, or be discovered in such a vulnerable position. 

_This was it._

“Malfoy” – she lifted her chin, desperately trying to calm the erratic beat of her heart – “can you explain what you’re doing here?”

He sneered, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it by the way his nostrils failed to flare. “It’s none of your fucking business, Granger.”

She swallowed, letting the sound of her surname escaping his lips vibrate through her like a perfect melody. She momentarily imagined him saying her first name, whispered against her hair, his fingers grazing the tops of her arms as he spoke to her.

“It’s after hours, Malfoy, and you’re obviously not on duty. So yes, it is my business,” she intoned, wishing she didn’t have to put on this charade. _Not for long_ , she promised herself, keeping her wand held towards him, as if he would ever truly harm her.

His eyes darted around the bathroom, finally taking stock of the situation at hand.

“I heard what you said,” Hermione continued, softening her tone only slightly. She couldn’t suddenly be kind, or show empathy; no, for this to work, every word, every movement had to be perfect. She needed to get him to trust her without questioning her motives.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest, feet shuffling beneath him. “You didn’t hear a fucking thing,” he scoffed.

 _It means he’s scared_ , she thought, noticing the same fear in his eyes that had been present during the Buckbeak incident in third year. She wanted so badly to take him into her arms and reassure him that she would never let any harm come to him.

 _Soon_ , she promised herself again.

“Dumbledore knows you’ve been assigned a task by Voldemort” – Draco’s eye twitched at the name – “and he’s been trying to find a way to get through to you.”

She had no idea if this was true or not. But she had deduced, given the way he constantly scratched his left forearm, and the flash of black she noticed a few months earlier, that he was in fact a marked Death Eater. And, based on the way he’d been purposefully avoiding his so-called ‘friends’, as well as failing to properly take care of himself, she’d also determined that something must be weighing heavily on him.

This led Hermione to the conclusion that he was tasked with something by Voldemort himself. What she had overheard in the bathroom merely served to confirm her hypothesis.

Now, all she needed to do was convince him that he had no choice but to accept her help.

Draco gaped at her, his eyes narrowed, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend her words. This was predictable. He believed his status as a Death Eater was secret, his mission hidden, and yet, here she was, forcing him to acknowledge that things were not as they appeared to be.

Before he had a chance to rebuke her, she said, “We can help, you know.” She tried to keep her voice level, as if she didn’t have a personal stake in the matter, as if her very being wasn’t vibrating in anticipation of his answer.

He furrowed his brow, and gave her an incredulous stare. “You and your precious ‘Order’ must be certifiable if you think I’d ever accept help from _you_.” He took a step forward, as though momentarily forgetting he was wandless, before exhaling roughly and standing back.

Hermione raised a single eyebrow. He continued to behave precisely as she had anticipated, and this alone gave her a rush like nothing else. After all, if one of her assumptions was correct, it followed that her others weren’t entirely unfounded.

She stepped hesitantly towards him, keeping her wand raised, and allowed her arm to shake slightly. She wanted him to think her afraid; boost his ego, show him the Hermione Granger she needed him to see.

“Don’t be an idiot, Malfoy. We can offer you and your family protection – you’ll never have to worry about You-Know-Who again.”

She knew she needed to hone in on his fear of Voldemort, of whatever that monster had threatened him with – even if the idea repulsed her. To think that vile creature had any sort of hold on Draco made her want to track him down and tear him to pieces.

Hermione could see it in his eyes, those deep pools of grey, the moment a sliver of doubt crept in, the moment he let himself imagine a world where he could be free. She could see the battle waging within him; his fear of Voldemort versus his hatred of the Order. 

She didn’t quite trust him to come to the correct conclusion on his own. “I shouldn’t tell you this but…” – she shut her eyes and shook her head – “never mind.”

Draco’s eyes bulged, then narrowed. “What?” he asked, chest heaving. 

Arms falling to his sides, he took a small step towards her before stopping abruptly. She counted four paces between them and imagined, just for a moment, coming together in two steps and embracing; of him admitting that while she was watching him, he was watching her.

But he remained still. 

She made a point to swallow and shift her gaze to the right. “I – I just – ” she forced herself to take a shallow breath, “look, just believe me when I say you won’t survive the year here.” She flared her nostrils, furrowed her brow, hoping to look contrite.

He pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t believe you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, as though exasperated. “Fine. Suit yourself.” She turned slowly, still grasping his wand in her left hand. _3, 2, 1_ –

“Granger,” he bit out. She allowed herself a private smile before schooling her features into a neutral expression. “Why would you help me?”

She had a thousand answers on the tip of her tongue, but knew exactly which one to give. “Because even you don’t deserve what’s happening to you,” she told him, with the perfect combination of timidness and righteous indignation.

They stood still, as though each were waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Hypothetically speaking... what would happen if you – if you _helped_ me?” Draco scowled, as though the very idea left a bad taste in his mouth.

She managed to keep the corner of her lip from turning upwards. “Hypothetically, I would facilitate your move to a safe house in Hogsmeade.”

He frowned. “You?” 

She was prepared for this, as she had prepared for nearly every eventuality. She raised both eyebrows and told him, “What did you think? That I’d just walk you to Dumbledore? No – you’re a school boy. We have a structure in place for communication. You go through me.”

This was where, in all of her calculations, she had never been able to determine a fool-proof way to ensure his compliance. She tried to appear calm, unbothered, even though inside she was _screaming_. 

Hermione let herself give in to the fear momentarily – what would happen if he refused? What would she do then? Could she cope with his rebuttal, or would she shatter?

“Malfoy,” she said quietly, “it doesn’t mean anything. I’d just be your handler, so to speak. You’ll have full autonomy at the safe house and, once you’re there, we can work to keep your family safe. Alright?”

She watched him scratch at his Dark Mark and, in that moment, knew that she had won.

“Alright,” he told her.

* * *

Hermione tossed and turned that night, unable to sleep, her mind whirring after her confrontation with Draco. 

She still couldn’t believe it. After years of watching him from afar, cataloguing his every move, she was _so close_. 

She just needed a few days to prepare, but, then, he’d be within her grasp – somewhere safe. She imagined how it would go: at first, he would be nervous, likely somewhat confused by the new situation. But once he actually got to _know_ her, came to understand how similar they were... he would soften. She imagined his eyes following her around the safehouse, his looks curious and wandering.

She’d be coy; give him only the slightest of smiles, allow her gaze to stay locked on his for only a moment. But, eventually, they’d pass one another and their fingers would brush, as though by accident. The movements would gradually become more purposeful, until the tension reached a fever pitch and he’d push her against the kitchen island, demanding her.

He’d be so scared of what he felt, assuming himself alone, believing her to be simply his caretaker. But she would assure him, with every touch and press of her hips, that what she felt for him was the same. It was real.

They’d be inseparable then. Making love on every surface and in every position imaginable, spooning naked, and telling each other their very darkest secrets. 

It would only be a matter of time before their physical connection blossomed into something more, and he would start telling her he loved her, demanding she leave Hogwarts, leave Harry and Ron so that they could be together all of the time.

It was finally within her grasp, everything she ever wanted.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this one... 😊
> 
> Thank you [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) for being a fabulous beta!
> 
> Next update will be on Thursday 11th Feb

It took a few days for Hermione to execute the first stage of her plan: procuring a safe house close enough to the castle to allow her easy access. The cottage she’d found and purchased using funds embezzled from her parents was perfect – it was just off the main Hogsmeade thoroughfare, and she was able to easily apply the wards she needed. For Draco’s protection, of course. 

In the days she had spent preparing, however, she’d neither seen nor heard from him. The excitement and hope that had filled her after finding him in the bathroom quickly faded into dread – what if he changed his mind or, worse, had gone to speak to Dumbledore himself?

 _No_. She shook her head, reminding herself that Draco would never approach the headmaster; he was too stubborn, prideful. It was one of the things she loved most about him – his unwavering sense of self. 

Still, Hermione didn’t appreciate any sort of unknown, couldn’t bear the uncertainty, especially where Draco was concerned. She hadn’t spent the last six years memorising him sheerly for her own pleasure: it was to learn everything there was to know about him. And she knew he would struggle with her proposal, that there was a reasonable likelihood he would need more… persuasion, to ensure his compliance.

However, she also knew there was nothing more she could say to him, at least as Hermione Granger. So, earlier that day, during Potions, she’d purposely bumped into Pansy Parkinson, snagging a few of her dark locks for the Polyjuice Potion she kept under stasis within her trunk. Given Hermione’s _extracurricular activities_ , she often found herself needing to take on another’s appearance. She caressed the piece of Draco’s hair she kept on her person at all times, shutting her eyes momentarily, considering what it would be like to become _him_ , to feel his limbs as though they were her own.

She exhaled, the corner of her lip pulling up into a soft smile, as she retrieved the Marauder’s Map from where she’d tucked it beneath her mattress. When she returned to Gryffindor Tower that fateful night, having assured Harry that Draco was simply using the bathroom, she’d successfully managed to make it back to her dorm without returning his sacred Map. Since then, she had allowed herself to stay up half the night, quietly watching Draco, her fingers grazing over his name and the small black footprints he made.

It was because of the Map that she’d learned Draco tended to spend his evenings in the Slytherin common room. She also discovered that Pansy had a habit of going to the kitchens after dinner, to what end Hermione didn’t know and, frankly, didn’t care.

With the Map in hand, she made her way through corridors and down staircases, grinning at the sight of Pansy’s name, showing up exactly on time. Hermione stood Disillusioned in a small alcove, just outside the dungeons, and shot a nonverbal Sleeping Charm in her direction as she passed. Pansy’s eyes fluttered shut and she swayed slightly, before falling heavily to the floor. Hermione quickly dragged the limp body behind a tapestry, safely hidden from view.

Her heart raced, adrenaline flooding her veins, as she added Pansy’s hair to the flask of Polyjuice Potion. The concoction bubbled thickly as it amalgamated and slowly shifted into a deep violet colour. Hermione shuddered as she swallowed the liquid in one gulp. Although she was used to the transformation process by now, her insides still writhed and she had to lean on the wall to stay upright. But the pain was worth it, both for the opportunity to be with Draco for a few moments, and to ensure his safety.

As the burning sensation receded, Hermione took a moment to get used to her new body. She glanced down at her transformed hands; Pansy had long, slender fingers tipped with glossy silver nail varnish. She hummed pensively, wondering whether this was something Draco liked – whilst she’d rather not emulate _Pansy Parkinson_ of all people, she would, of course, do anything for him. She’d never noticed him taking any particular interest in something so trivial, though perhaps in private such things mattered to him.

Shivering with anticipation, Hermione stood opposite the Slytherin common room. She whispered the password into the long expanse of seemingly bare stone wall and, slowly, the grey bricks began to shift – repositioning themselves, one in front of the other, until they formed an imposing archway. She stepped across the threshold and gazed around the dark room.

This part of the dungeon extended beneath the lake, giving the space a green-ish tinge; lanterns hung from the ceiling on tarnished chains, and a fire crackled softly within an elaborately carved mantelpiece. A dozen low backed, leather chairs framed an old Kashan rug, and, it was there that she caught sight of the object of her desire. The soft emerald glow reflected off Draco’s blonde hair, forming shadows around him, and the sight was nearly angelic. Hermione’s breath hitched - _her angel_ , she thought.

Attempting to mimic Pansy’s movements, Hermione sauntered towards Draco. “There you are,” she simpered.

He glanced up at her, warm recognition blossoming within those intense eyes. _Merlin_ , if he only knew what he could do to her with just one look. She went to speak, when a thought suddenly struck her – she could… _touch_ him. Heat pooled between her thighs as she considered the possibilities. 

“Pans?” his voice brought Hermione back to the present. “Are you even listening to me?”

Her heart fluttered at the sound of his voice, and she schooled her features back into a smile. “Sorry, I got distracted for a moment.”

Draco’s brow furrowed slightly and he shrugged. “Alright, well, are you just going to stand there all evening?”

Her breathing faltered as she wondered if she could risk sitting on his lap. Although she knew this would shortly become commonplace between them, Hermione couldn’t resist the opportunity to feel him beneath her a just little sooner.

With a confident smirk she stepped forward and lowered herself onto his thighs, sliding sideways towards his chest. When he chuckled quietly, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer, it took all of her willpower to keep her expression neutral, to avoid moaning his name.

Every longing glance, every brief touch, had led her to this exquisite moment. Her entire body was alight and she felt slightly dizzy, intoxicated by the feel of him sitting so readily beneath her. She memorised the feel of his hard chest, savoured the way his muscles pressed against her. And, as she leant closer, inhaling his scent, she could no longer restrain herself. Slowly, ever so slowly, heart pounding ferociously within her chest, she pressed her lips to his. 

And he responded. 

His mouth opened and moved against her own, swallowing her moans as he slipped his tongue inside. He tasted exactly as she had always imagined: like the green apples she always caught him sneaking out of the Great Hall, with just a hint of sweetness, presumably from his favourite sweets, Fizzing Whizzbees. She knew, as her tongue gently caressed his bottom lip, that she was made to kiss him – they fit perfectly together. She cupped his face with her hands and pulled him closer, wondering whether she might leave a damp patch on his trousers, marking him as hers.

“Pansy – Pans,” he said breathlessly, leaning away from her, “we agreed to just be friends, remember?”

Although the loss of his lips from hers was almost physically painful, she relished the thought that Draco harboured no romantic feelings towards Pansy. The coil in her stomach wound tighter as she wondered whether he had been saving himself for her, as she had for him.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” she murmured, resting her head gently against his shoulder. “You’ve just seemed a bit stressed recently… and, well, with everything going on, I thought – ”

He cut her off. “What? What’s going on?”

“Draco, I – ” Hermione paused, wondering how to phrase her next statement. “I need to tell you something.”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly – if she didn’t know him as well as she did, the movement might easily have been missed. “What is it?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.

She gently brushed her fingertips across the sleeve covering the area she knew sported his Dark Mark and he shuddered. “There’ve been rumours, gossip, I suppose, that you’ve been given a _task_ by,” Hermione paused again for effect, “the Dark Lord.”

Draco jerked. “ _What?_ ”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – ”

He interrupted her, “Just tell me.”

She nodded slowly, relishing the intensity radiating from him. His eyes were alight and blazing with passion. “It’s Potter – he’s been mouthing off about it.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swore, pushing her off his lap and standing up. He began pacing in front of the fireplace. “Why the _hell_ would he say something like that?”

“I don’t know… Draco, is it – is it, true?”

“No!” he shouted, just a little too loud. “No. Of course not.”

Hermione took a step towards him but he backed away. “Not now, Pansy, I need – _fuck_ – I need some air.” 

He strode past her and, without even a backwards glance, left the common room.

Watching him go, she allowed herself a moment to imagine what it might be like if she and Draco argued once he was ensconced in their safe house. Any disagreement wouldn't last long, she knew that for a fact; there was no possibility of them remaining angry with each other, given the depth of their feelings. 

And afterwards… she smiled as she pictured what would happen _after_ an argument. He’d take her roughly against the counter of their kitchen, turning her around and filling her to the hilt. Their passionate, heated, moans would echo off the walls, merging with the softer tones of earlier love-making. She imagined him whispering apologies as his hands gripped her tightly. He’d tell her how much he loved her as his fingers softly grazed her clit and he pounded her from behind.

Hermione rubbed her thighs together, trying to quell the burning within her. She knew she had limited time left available to her with this current batch of Polyjuice Potion, but there was one final thing she wanted to do. Stepping quietly down the boy’s corridor, she found Draco’s dorm, and, thankfully, it was empty.

She inhaled deeply, quickly finding his scent and moving towards his side of the room. Her heart pounded as she opened his chest of drawers and trailed a hand across the clothes within. Although she’d have him to herself soon enough, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to take a small piece of him with her. She grabbed a shirt and a pair of boxers, allowing herself only a moment to inhale his musk before heading out of the Slytherin common room.

Hermione almost ran back to the Gryffindor Tower, desperately seeking relief for the heat building between her thighs. As her body morphed back to its usual form, all thoughts of Pansy Parkinson fled her mind; instead, her fingers grazed the clothing in her pocket, mind whirring at the thought of Draco slowly removing his boxers, the material bulging as it struggled to contain his length.

She ignored her peers sitting lazily around the common room, made excuses that she needed to study, and rushed up to her dormitory. The moment she was inside she collapsed onto her bed, silently pulling the four-poster curtains closed, locking them, and whispered a strong Muffliato Charm.

Every nerve in her body was alight and she hardly knew where to begin.

Quickly vanishing her clothes, but leaving the lace knickers, she let her mind drift back to the feel of Draco’s hard muscles beneath her thighs. Clutching his boxers, she wished she could have stayed with him, followed him, persuaded him to take her in the corridor, but their love was more than a fumble in an alcove and this wait would only make their first time together so much more powerful.

She grazed her fingers across her kiss-swollen lips and opened her mouth, slipping her thumb inside as far as it would go. She shivered, imagining his length pushed against her throat – he’d be so proud of her for taking him so well.

Closing her eyes, she pictured his naked body above hers, his strong arms on either side of her head; the scent of his clothing making the experience all the more visceral. She rubbed the soft material across her skin and goosebumps surfaced in its wake.

Hermione trailed both hands across her collarbone, taking a deep breath before moving them slowly down towards her breasts. Her legs spread unconsciously wider as she drew circles around her nipples, and it was so easy to imagine Draco’s hot breath caressing them into hard peaks.

There would be time for love-making, she thought, but, in this moment, she would want him to be rough with her. He would show how much he needed her by gripping her so tightly there would be bruises left in the morning. 

Leaving one hand palming her breast, she brushed the other down her stomach and slid her fingers over her knickers, pressing the fabric into her wetness. She rubbed slow circles against herself, breath catching as her walls began fluttering. Draco would love that; love that he could make her come undone so easily. The pleasure they could give one another would be otherworldly.

She rolled a nipple hard between her fingers, dipping her other hand into her knickers, and gasped. She wondered what dirty words he might murmur into her ear as pushed inside her, filling her entirely. Her fingers increased their pace as she imagined his utterings: _“You’re so good to me, love; fucking perfect, how did I get so lucky; so tight, you take me so well; do you like that, sweetheart?”_ Her mouth fell open at the thought, moans spilling from her lips. _Merlin_ , how she burnt for him.

Her nipples tightened as she pressed harder on her clit, finally reaching her peak. “ _Draco_ ,” she gasped, arching her back. Her vision flashed white and she lay boneless, barely able to comprehend the intense pleasure pulsing through her body.

Hermione sighed happily, rolling languidly onto her side. With Draco’s shirt clasped tightly against her chest, she allowed her eyes to flutter shut. She was close, _so_ close, to being able to call him hers.

* * *

Her scheme to ensure his compliance paid off. Only one day after they had shared their first kiss in the Slytherin common room, Draco hastily pressed a crumpled up piece of parchment into her satchel as he raced out of Arithmancy.

Quickly reaching into her bag, her breath hitched at the feel of the wrinkled parchment against her skin. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself steady at the thought of Draco’s long fingers holding a feathered quill, carefully jotting down the words that lay there. 

She escaped the classroom as quickly as possible, making her way to an empty alcove, and hastily pulled out the note:

_Are we still on?_

She couldn’t stop the swell in her heart, the blood that rushed to her cheeks at the word ‘ _we_ ’. She pressed the parchment to her lips, inhaling his scent, fluttering her eyes shut and imagining his lips on hers as they had been the night before.

He was anxious; she could tell by the hastily written scrawl. Draco was meticulous in his writing, as he was in everything he did, and for him to write a note such as this, recklessly shoving it into her bag, meant he was feeling the pressure.

She placed a hand on her pounding chest at the thought of him scared – she had to get him out of the school immediately.

Grabbing a quill, she jotted down a reply:

_Yes. Meet me in the alcove beside the statue of the one-eyed witch tonight at 11 p.m._

She quickly charmed the parchment into the shape of a bird, spelling it to find Draco at once. As it fluttered away, she sighed in relief, and a smile of sheer ecstasy crossed her face. In only a matter of hours they would be together again, crawling through tunnels and sneaking into Hogsmeade. He’d hold her hand while she Apparated them to avoid the prying eyes of villagers, and she imagined that the moment their skin touched, an electric current would pass through them both. 

His eyes would widen at the shock of it, at the feeling of how her small hand fit so perfectly in his larger one. He’d begin to understand that they were meant for each other, that they were two halves of the same whole. And, when they finally reached the safe house, he would be so relieved, so thankful to her for getting him away from Voldemort and Dumbledore and Harry Potter. 

Once Draco was safe within her carefully crafted wards, he would fall for her. It was inevitable.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We cannot WAIT to hear what you think about this chapter!!
> 
> There’s just one thing to highlight before you get reading - **please** make sure you’re okay with all the tags, if you have any concerns then feel free to get in touch with us (Facebook, Tumblr, Discord) 😊
> 
> Finally, thank you SO much to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) again for being our wonderful beta - you are fabulous on every chapter and REALLY saved our lives this week!
> 
> Next update will be on Thursday 18th Feb.

Everything went according to plan. 

She had told Harry and Ron late Friday afternoon that she would be away over the weekend to study the decline in Kelpie habitats around the Irish Sea, and they hadn’t asked any further questions. 

Draco arrived at the statue on time, albeit with a sneer, but that didn’t matter. He was there.

He followed her through the secret tunnel and into Hogsmeade, even holding her hand as she Apparated them to their cottage. He had jerked away from her the moment they landed, but that was to be expected - after all, he still assumed that she was just a member of the Order. He didn’t understand yet... but he would.

Looking at the cottage in front of her, Hermione was proud of the complex protection spells she had learnt in order to keep Draco safe. Whilst he could only see a small row of houses that excluded their own, she was able to fully appreciate its beauty. 

She adored the scarlet climbing roses framing the dark wooden front door, and the lattice-style windows were almost fairytale-like. And, with its whitewashed stone walls and thatched roof, she knew they would feel at home here. She imagined Draco trimming the bushes the Muggle way, sweat dripping from his brow onto a tight white cotton shirt. 

Draco coughed behind her. “Granger?”

She blinked, calming her rapid breathing and willing the sudden redness across her neck to fade.

“Sorry,” she murmured, handing him a crumpled piece of parchment. “If you read this, you’ll be able to see the cottage.”

“Dumbledore’s really gone all out, hasn’t he?” he drawled as the Fidelius Charm revealed its secrets to him.

Hermione swallowed her frustration that Draco didn’t realise it was _she_ who had done this. But, then again, she’d led him to believe their headmaster had created the entire plan. Had she not, he surely would have known it was her own magical prowess involved. “Right,” she said shortly, “let’s go in then?”

Draco nodded and made to step forward but she grabbed his arm, trying not to moan at the shock that went through her at the feel of his bare skin against her fingertips. 

“Wait, there are wards Malfoy – you have to…” she swallowed, “you have to hold my hand again.” She forced herself to roll her eyes, as though she, too, were put out by this.

His lip curled, as though he didn’t want to touch her, but Hermione knew better – she could see the intensity and passion blazing in his eyes. She held out her hand, steady, waiting. And he took it.

She almost jumped… there it was, she could feel it again. The _Spark_. She’d felt small variations of it each time they had touched, even experienced an inkling when she was disguised as Pansy, but _this_ , no – this was something else entirely. She accidentally tightened her grip and felt him stiffen in response. Hermione cursed silently; she needed to be more careful.

Attempting to regain control of herself, she tugged him forward and they stepped through the invisible wards.

He ripped his hand from hers the moment they crossed the threshold, flexing his fingers and wrinkling his nose. She watched with a small smile – knowing he must have felt it too, must have detected their connection, even if he didn’t quite understand it yet.

“What other protection spells have been put on this place?” Draco asked as she led him inside their new home.

“Enough to keep you safe, Malfoy,” she told him. He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows in challenge. “Fine. In addition to the Fidelius, there are multiple wards, all tied to me. You’ll need to stay within the cottage to be safe, but no one will be able to find you here.”

Hermione watched him as he gave a reluctant nod before turning to look around the quaint interior. He took such graceful, careful steps, brushing his hand across the bowl of green apples she’d procured for him, knowing they were his favourite. She was aware that the cottage would be much smaller than he was used to, having grown up in Malfoy Manor, but she had tried her best to make the space comfortable and homey.

The lounge was warm, and housed a deep brick mantelpiece framed by a sofa and two armchairs. When she had furnished the space, she imagined making love to Draco on the soft fur rug in front of a crackling fire; their bodies illuminated by a soft orange glow, moving together in harmony.

“So, your room’s upstairs,” she said, walking through to the kitchen and pointing at the wooden stairs. “I’ll take you there.”

She had made Draco’s room deliberately simple, imagining he might like to decorate it himself. She also presumed it wouldn’t be long before he would come to her bed each night; insist they fall asleep side by side.

Before he could push his door open, she said quickly, “Sorry I have to… well, there’s something important I need to do.”

Draco raised his brow and huffed. “Yes, Granger?” He seemed annoyed but she could detect just the slightest hint of playfulness in his gaze.

She steeled herself and took a steadying breath. This was something she wished she didn’t have to do – it was something that would hurt him. She _never_ wanted to hurt him, but this was for his own good. “I’ll need your wand.”

He stiffened, and his eyes narrowed on hers. “Why?”

Hermione gave him a patronising look. “Think about it, Malfoy. You’re still sixteen – the Trace is on you. The second it comes out that you’re missing, Voldemort will be able to use his connections at the Ministry to track you down.”

He stared at her incredulously. “So what? I just won’t use magic then.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, shaking her head. The lie came easily to her as she explained, “The summer before Harry went into second year, a house-elf did magic in his house and the Ministry assumed that it was Harry – just because his wand was there. It’s the _wand_ they can detect, not the magic.”

Draco looked as though he wanted to disagree; his jaw was clenched and he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Well, what the fuck can _you_ do about it then?”

She swallowed, attempting to look bored, as though none of this had any bearing on her. “We have a separate house where we store items that could be Traced. It will be kept there safely under a Stasis Charm and, once this is all over, you’ll have it back – alright?”

He ground his teeth, staring at her in a way that others might find intimidating, but she knew it was simply reflective of his inherent intensity. “Fine.” His hand shook slightly as he handed her his wand.

“Thank you, Malfoy. I know this isn’t ideal… but I promise that you can trust me.”

Because, really, she only wanted what was best for him. He didn’t need a wand anymore anyway – he’d always have her to protect him. She imagined him sending her private smiles when she performed feats of magic, shaking his head and laughing as he learned to do things the Muggle way.

He looked at her oddly, his eyes darting towards the door. She shook herself, returning to the present and nodded. “Alright,” she said evenly, “it’s late, why don’t you get settled in? There are clothes in the wardrobe and some books on the shelves if you get bored. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

She knew she needed to turn and leave, to take care of his wand. But she had dreamt of this moment for such a long time – to be alone with _him_ in his _bedroom_. As he pushed the door open she swallowed a gasp and let her gaze momentarily dart to his bed, imagining what it would be like to curl up with him on it.

Draco huffed. “Can I have some privacy?”

Her neck reddened. “Of course,” she mumbled, berating herself for letting her mind wander.

The door slammed shut as she turned back toward the staircase, and she heard the sound of Draco’s fist hit the wall. She felt for him, she really did – he must be so confused, having lived his entire life believing in pure-blood superiority, only to find himself reliant and entranced by a Muggle-born.

Hermione made her way back downstairs, entirely focused on the wand in her hand. Although she knew what she had to do, it still hurt her to have to do it. For so long she had pictured herself and Draco taking on the world, perhaps working together as Aurors. But the world wasn’t ready for them, and so she’d improvised.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she trailed her fingers along the length of hawthorn in her palm. It seemed almost sacrilegious to fracture such a beautiful magical instrument in two, particularly one that belonged to someone so special. 

She looked down, steeling herself to complete the task, and, with a sharp _crack_ , snapped the wand in half. 

Silently vanishing the fragments, Hermione pushed any guilt she felt from her mind – she _had_ to do it, it was the only way to ensure Draco’s continued safety.

* * *

By the time Draco finally came downstairs, it was late afternoon on Saturday. She heard his echoing footsteps from where she sat reading on the sofa, trying desperately to distract herself from the knowledge that he was right above her. She turned slowly, taking care not to appear over excited by his presence. He looked tired, his hand misshapen and discoloured, presumably from punching the wall.

Taking a steadying breath, Hermione asked, “Would you like me to heal that?” 

He narrowed his eyes but gave a slight nod and so she stood, approaching him cautiously. Gently taking his hand, she slid her fingers across the purple bruises, mouth opening slightly at the feel of his cool skin. 

“ _Episkey_ ,” she murmured, carefully turning his hand over, only letting go once she was satisfied the injury was healed.

He didn’t thank her, but she didn’t expect him to. Draco wasn’t the kind of man to waste words on such trivial courtesies, and she didn't need to hear them – actions spoke louder than words, and the longing that she was certain she could see fill his eyes every time he looked at her was more than enough appreciation. 

“Are you hungry?” she asked, leading him to the small kitchen.

His lacklustre response made her wonder whether he was too overwhelmed to speak, his mind reeling from the day’s events, perhaps becoming partially aware of the unexpected affection he was suddenly feeling for her.

She was okay doing all the talking – for now, at least. She still imagined him whispering in her ear, telling her all the ways he wanted to touch her, all the ways he would take her. But there was no rush – they had all the time in the world now.

“How about I make lasagne?” Hermione suggested. “You must be starving.”

Draco frowned, his brows furrowed. “You have the ingredients to make that?” he asked.

She wanted to tell him that she’d filled the pantry with all of his favourite things, that she had taken care to procure recipes to ensure she could fix him whatever he desired. She wanted him to be happy, to be comfortable.

She knew she couldn’t say that, though. Rather, she rolled her eyes and chided, “Not all of us grew up with house-elves, Malfoy. I learned to cook.”

He narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything, he simply grabbed an apple and made his way into the lounge, pulling out a book and sitting in a wing-backed chair. 

Hermione let her gaze occasionally drift his way as she cooked, utterly mesmerized by him. It was such a special thing to have him so near; close enough that she could walk over and graze his neck with her fingertips if she so desired. 

He kept his distance but that was to be expected – it was only a matter of time now.

* * *

She made every effort to keep her distance throughout the evening and the following day, but, as she prepared to go back to Hogwarts on Sunday night, she was no longer able to hold herself back. She needed to see him, to watch him breathe as he slept. She had always wondered how peaceful he might look asleep, when he was finally able to unburden himself and relax.

Disillusioning herself and muttering a quiet Sleeping Charm, Hermione crept into Draco’s bedroom, inhaling deeply as she walked towards him. His white-blonde hair lay fanned around his head like a halo, and his chest moved peacefully up and down. She was desperate for them to start sharing a bed, to hold each other close throughout the night, but knew she had to take things slowly. She reminded herself that whilst she’d had six years to fully comprehend their bond, he was only just beginning to understand.

Lying down and pressing herself against his body, Hermione shivered and, as always, felt her knickers become damp with excitement. She trailed her fingers across his forehead, gently brushing his hair to the side, before stopping herself. _This wasn’t the time._ She had only come to say goodbye to him, check that he was sleeping soundly, and then leave – even if it broke her heart to do so.

It wouldn’t be for long, she knew, but she had no choice. The final part of her plan involved fabricating a reason for Draco’s disappearance. One that would ensure her innocence was never questioned.

* * *

After a lonely night in the Gryffindor Tower, Hermione snuck into the sixth year Slytherins boys’ dormitory while the rest of the school seemed to be sprawled across the grounds, enjoying the unseasonably warm afternoon. Although she’d brought Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, she hadn’t needed it given how few people she came across. Still, she had to be careful. 

Her plan was simple – retrieve all of Draco’s belongings and leave a note indicating that the pressure of his life was too much and he had run away. 

It was all going well until a grating voice interrupted her as she placed Draco’s ties one by one into her bag. 

“What are you doing here?” Blaise Zabini drawled. 

She froze momentarily, berating herself for being so meticulous. But she couldn't have just haphazardly thrown Draco's belongings away – they were a piece of him, and Hermione had to treat them reverently.

Locking eyes with Blaise through the mirror on Draco's chest of drawers, she realised that she needed to think fast, needed to somehow take care of the situation – Blaise had seen too much.

She initially considered Obliviation, but another plan quickly materialised in her mind. She kept her face impassive and spun towards him, uttering, ‘ _Petrificus Totalus’_ , before Blaise could even blink.

A loud _thunk_ echoed around the room as he collapsed, head knocking against the corner of one of the four-poster beds before landing on the floor.

She took a few calming breaths, closing her eyes briefly as she reminded herself why she was doing this.

It was for _him_. For Draco. It was all for _him_.

“I’m sorry, Blaise,” she said earnestly, before quietly muttering, ‘ _Wingardium Leviosa’_ , and gently placing him on a bed.

She pulled a vial of Polyjuice Potion from her bag, adding the piece of Draco’s hair she always kept on hand.

Blaise’s eyes were wide, his body shaking.

“You won’t be able to overcome the bind,” she told him.

The vial bubbled and she couldn’t stop herself from sniffing the liquid. She fluttered her eyes, letting out a heavy sigh at Draco’s familiar musk. 

Hermione ignored the tears welling in Blaise's eyes, the terror within them, and focused solely on the task before her. She held his head gently against her palm, and carefully poured the Polyjuice down his throat, magically forcing him to swallow. Taking a small step back, she tilted her head and watched as every inch of him transformed – his brown eyes turning slate grey, his dark hair shifting into a startling shade of blonde. 

Eventually, Blaise lay frozen, shaking, and now perfectly resembling Draco Malfoy.

“ _Oh_ , this is harder than I thought,” Hermione mumbled, stepping towards the boy. She ran her fingers through his hair, letting her hand graze the side of his face, down his neck, until she felt his chest muscles. “You look just like him,” she whispered, her mouth hovering beside his ear.

There was something about him like this – so still, as though he were lying there just waiting for her.

She couldn’t help herself. She climbed atop him and pressed their foreheads together, looking into his grey eyes. She rolled her hips, letting her core press against him. 

She moaned. 

He shook.

She imagined he was vibrating from the intensity of the moment, of the way she felt against him.

Pressing her mouth to his, her fingers tightened against his blonde locks and she gently sucked his bottom lip, lightly grazing it with her teeth. She writhed her hips into him, a familiar warmth building within her. She liked him like this, so compliant beneath her.

A whine escaped him and she stopped.

She let out a rough exhale and sat up, her wand dangling from her right hand and a regretful look in her eye. “I wish we had more time,” she whispered, her gaze locked on his. “But the Polyjuice will wear off soon, and we can’t have that.”

Even though she knew it wasn’t really Draco, he looked _so_ much like him. She felt her lip quake as she closed her eyes, steeling herself for what she had to do. 

Wand shaking in her hand, she muttered, “ _Diffindo._ ”

She peeked through her lids. The charm had sliced his side and thick, red blood slowly seeped out, pumping rhythmically in time with his heartbeat.

It wasn’t enough. 

She took care to avoid his face as she carefully carved into him again. She needed it to look emotional, for it to appear a crime of hate – as though Draco and Blaise had been embroiled in an argument which had taken a deadly turn. 

“I’m so sorry, Draco,” she whispered as she made the final slice into his chest.

She sat down and pressed against his cold side as blood oozed from the torn flesh, pooling around her. His weak, heaving breaths gradually slowed to a stop and she let out a few tears as she clutched his now lifeless body.

A strong, metallic scent hung in the air as she moved slowly from the bed, reminding herself that it wasn’t really Draco. Her robes were covered in his blood, and the hot, sticky mess covering the bed had begun dripping onto the carpet.

Despite the pain it had caused her to see Draco suffer, this was still better than her original plan. Having died with the Polyjuice Potion in his system, Blaise would remain in Draco’s form forever and everyone would believe that Draco was dead. Once Hermione cleared out Blaise’s things, the world would assume that Blaise had killed him. 

No one would suspect anything else, and certainly not that bookworm Hermione Granger could have had anything to do with it.

And Draco – _her_ Draco, would be safe.

* * *

She should have stayed in the castle but, after what had happened, she needed to see him. 

Quickly _Scourgifying_ her blood-soaked clothing, Hermione donned the Invisibility Cloak and rushed out of Hogwarts, using the passage to Honeydukes. Her legs felt weak and shaky, unwilling to let her move as quickly as she wanted. 

Finally approaching their cottage, she decided to leave the Cloak on – she just wanted to check on him, after all. She stood less than a foot away from him, separated only by a thin sheet of glass, and, if she strained hard enough, she could hear his deep, relaxed breaths.

Draco was sitting on the sofa reading one of the Quidditch magazines she’d left for him, knowing how much he enjoyed the sport, and she remained hidden beside the window, simply watching him turn each page. He brushed a hand through his beautiful blonde hair and she bit on her bottom lip to keep from audibly sighing.

The adrenaline from earlier still pumped through her, and she couldn’t resist dropping her hand to the apex of her thighs, gently stroking herself over her uniform. She kept her mouth glued shut, swallowing every whimper as she watched Draco lick his finger to turn a page of the magazine. 

She imagined herself curled up beside him, _his_ fingers rubbing her gently, whispering in her ear about all the ways he wanted to make her scream. She pressed harder, aggravated by the layers of clothing in her way. 

Draco let out a light laugh and she shivered, a flash of warmth running down to her core like a shock. She unconsciously let out a moan. 

He startled, turning in her direction, his eyes wide and scanning the room.

Hermione held her breath, hand frozen, waiting.

Finally, he shook his head and returned to his magazine.

She let out a silent breath and crept away from the cottage, happy that she had confirmed he was safe. 

Because that was all that mattered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone following along, we are loving writing this and you're all making the experience even more enjoyable! We get particularly excited by the comments speculating on what you think might happen, so definitely keep those coming 😉
> 
> Extra thanks as always to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan) for being a wonderful Beta.
> 
> Next update will be the 25th of February.

Hermione hated having to divide her time between Hogwarts and their cottage in Hogsmeade. She knew it was temporary, but couldn’t help feel that she was letting Draco down.

Over the month, he had grown more and more withdrawn; she’d notice it when they sat for dinner, the way his gaze would drift off to the side, how his eyes became dull and lifeless.

He’d begun snapping at her, sending scathing remarks her way. And, while she adored hearing any words spoken in his dulcet tones, she found herself becoming increasingly worried for him.

It wasn’t healthy for him to be alone. She needed to dedicate more of her time to the cottage and less parading around school, as though being at the castle had any value. As though _she_ needed the education that Hogwarts provided.

But even when she _was_ in the cottage, even when they were together, he was distant.

And there was only one logical reason for this: he resented her for her absences. 

She understood this intellectually. After all, they had been forced into this unique situation, and he’d begun to feel something for her that was inexplicable. And then, just when he might have gathered the courage to take the next step in their relationship, she would be forced to leave to keep up appearances.

 _Poor Draco_ , she thought as she wiped her hands on her apron, hearing him shuffle above her in his room.

Luckily, the school year was nearing its end and, with it, she had devised a plan so that she would be able to dedicate all of her time to him. Until then, she was determined to make the most of the time they had.

It was a Saturday, and she had once again convinced her idiotic friends that she was out of the area, performing some sort of research for the weekend, which meant she would be able to devote two full days to him.

Knowing how much he loved pancakes, Hermione decided to start preparing the batter. 

When he finally came downstairs, his hair askew and joggers hanging low on his hips, she nearly dropped the spatula. As it was, she couldn’t stop the way her mouth gaped open at the sight, or the way her cheeks heated up.

A sizzle from the pan reminded her of her task.

“Cooking the Muggle way again, Granger?” he drawled, picking at a piece of lint on his navy v-neck jumper and grabbing a magazine from the lounge.

She regained her composure, allowing herself a small smile at the quip. It was the small moments like this she lived for, where he caught on to her idiosyncrasies and teased her for it. She imagined that, on their wedding day, they would laugh about how he teased her mercilessly over her love of cooking the Muggle way.

“I don’t think pancakes taste quite right made with magic,” she replied after a moment.

He turned from where he sat on the sofa, his hard grey gaze landing on hers. His eyes shone momentarily in surprise. “You’re making pancakes?”

She nodded, keeping her face neutral. “I thought it would be a nice treat.” 

She wasn’t going to tell him she used to watch his eyes light up in the Great Hall when he’d enter and see pancakes, or that she’d kept a list of the food he’d scoffed at. One day she imagined they would lay in bed together, telling each other secrets, and she would confide in him about how she’d noticed such things, and he’d laugh and tell her how sweet it was.

But she knew he wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

That said, she felt as though they’d taken some positive steps forward and fallen into something of a routine. She came to see him when she could during the week, bringing food and checking in on him. They’d even reached a point where they could finally hold a conversation for a few minutes, and she felt certain his eyes would linger on her backside as she left.

He huffed and returned to his magazine, only shifting his attention back to her when she called out that the pancakes were ready.

“So,” Hermione started, “how have you been?”

He blinked, his fork half-way to his mouth, and she tried not to stare at his soft, plump lips – it was even more difficult now that she knew, from her _experience_ with Blaise, that Draco’s lips melded perfectly with her own. One day she’d grab the fork from his hand, push the table out of their way, and climb atop him, stealing those lips for herself.

“What kind of question is that?” he seethed.

Hermione frowned; she’d expected him to be… cranky, perhaps? But had still hoped to be able to instigate some sort of amiable conversation. “Is something wrong?’

He scoffed. “Is something wrong Granger? I’ve been locked up here for a mont– ”

“You’ve been _safe_ here for a month!” she snapped, her hand slamming down against the table. She shut her eyes, berating herself for her temper, before she continued, “I just mean, that while I understand it must be stifling, you’re safe. You’re well fed, have a place to sleep, and all the books you want. If there’s anything else you need, I can help you.”

He glared at her, and she forced herself to reflect his ire, even as she imagined his mouth pressed roughly against her own. _‘I’m still angry with you, Hermione,'_ he’d whisper as he pushed his length against her.

“You can help by letting me see my family,” he said slowly. 

She smiled. “I promise you they’re safe, alright?” 

“So you’re visiting them too?” he asked. “Making sure they’re doing okay?”

“Not me personally, no,” she replied carefully. “I’m not sure where they are anymore… some things happened – ”

“What things, Granger?” he demanded, digging his forearms into the table.

She sighed. “I really shouldn’t tell you…”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “What does it matter? Who the fuck am I going to tell?”

“Fine,” she conceded, taking a deep breath and calming her pounding heart, preparing the lie. “When you went missing, Voldemort went after your parents. Luckily, the Order was able to rescue them. But... well, they burnt down your home, Malfoy.”

He blinked, his eyes darting left to right. “Why would he do that? He operated out of the Manor.”

“It was out of spite,” Hermione told him evenly. “He’s mad, Dra – Malfoy. It’s a good thing we got you out when we did, I mean... if he’s willing to burn down his base of operations?” She shook her head. “We don’t want to take any risks, do you understand?” she spoke quietly, her eyes softening as she placed her hand subtly towards him.

He looked at it, crinkled his brows, and edged away. 

Hermione swallowed her disappointment.

“Look,” she started again. “I know it’s lonely here, and I’m sorry it has to be this way. I brought you something that should help – a Muggle television. You can use it to watch programs and movies.”

He narrowed his eyes, absently playing with the pancakes on his plate. “Why the fuck would I want to do that, Granger?”

She felt a thrill when he swore. She liked to imagine playing games with him in the bedroom: he’d call her names and she’d pretend to cry out, and in the end he’d apologise and look after her, whispering endearments into her ear. 

She shook her head, clearing the errant thoughts from her mind. Draco eyed her warily, but that made sense, given he was probably just worried about his parents and his home.

“You may find you like it – I can show you how to use it, okay? If you hate it, you don’t ever have to use it again. I promise I’m just trying to make your time here easier.”

He gave her that look once more, as though he didn’t quite believe her, but nodded anyway.

She was sure, whether he was willing to admit it or not, that there was something growing between them.

* * *

“I don’t get it,” he mumbled, watching the television with a look of sheer boredom.

Hermione found the expression adorable – the way he ground his teeth and flared his nostrils. She tried to watch him as discreetly as she could from the opposite side of the sofa. 

“It’s just entertainment, Malfoy. What did you do for fun at Hogwarts?” she asked, as though she didn’t already know the answer. 

He loved Quidditch, of course. She’d often sneak away from her friends to watch him fly around the pitch at dusk, practicing alone. She so admired that about him, that he’d use his free time to hone his skill rather than simply relying on his natural talent.

They were so alike in that way. 

“Why do you care?” he spat.

“I don’t, Malfoy,” she lied through her teeth. “I’m simply trying to explain that you used to find things to entertain you, and the television is just another method of entertainment. So you watch a movie, and it tells a story, much like a book.”

He looked momentarily intrigued before his face returned to its bored expression. “Whatever.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and refocused on the television, putting on the movie she had chosen. “Alright, this is ‘ _Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves_ ’. Just give it a shot.”

He looked as though he wanted to argue but, instead, he settled and nodded roughly.

She stayed on her side of the sofa, though the urge to move closer to him, to brush her fingers along his thigh, remained. She imagined movie nights where they would curl up together, his arm wrapped possessively around her, hands caressing her body.

In a way, it felt like this was their first date. She let her eyes occasionally drift his way, once or twice catching his gaze on her. He relaxed at some point, his tense muscles relaxing, letting himself sink into the sofa and his face soften. He even laughed once or twice, and the sound that escaped his throat was nearly angelic. 

“So?” she asked when the movie ended. “What did you think?”

He shrugged. “It was alright.”

It wasn’t everything, but it was a start.

And, anyway, they weren’t in any rush.

* * *

Once term finally came to an end, Hermione did what she had to do to ensure she could focus on Draco full time.

One morning, as she walked down the stairs, hoping to prepare some breakfast for him before he awoke, she was startled to find he had risen before her. 

He leapt up as she entered, stalking towards her, and placed his hands against the wall on either side of her head. His eyes were intense, gazing into hers with such heat.

Her heart pounded as she wondered whether this was the moment Draco finally admitted his feelings for her and they could, at last, move onto the next stage of their relationship. She’d been so patient for so long, but she ached for him, and his continued denial was becoming grating. 

Standing more than a head taller than her, she gazed up at him through fluttering eyelashes. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He raked a hand through his hair. “I _really_ need to know about my parents, Granger – I don’t understand why you won’t just give me a straight answer.”

Her blood ran cold as an icy rage vibrated through her. Hands trembling, she pushed silently past him – not trusting herself to speak. 

She could feel his eyes on her as she paced around the kitchen, slamming cupboard doors and banging crockery. _How could he?_ She had given him everything, given _up_ everything. And, yes, of course, she was glad to have done it – they belonged together. But that didn’t make his constant questioning after two people who _weren’t her_ any easier.

Hadn’t her lie about the Manor catching fire been enough to keep him from asking more questions? Why was this still an issue?

“Granger?” he snapped. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing – _nothing_ is going on,” she replied, her voice shrill.

Draco strode towards her, gripping her arms and pinning them to her sides. Her anger towards him melted slightly as his hot breath caressed her neck. She looked into his fiery eyes, so full of passion, and wondered if she should just eliminate the space between them, press her lips to his. Perhaps that’s what he wanted all along? And this farce about his parents was simply a ploy?

“Where. Are. My. Parents?” His words came out like a growl, and Hermione whimpered; she wanted to hear that low tone more often. 

“I’ve already said that I can’t tell you where they are,” she breathed. “But they’re safe, that’s all you need to know.”

He tightened his grip and her body responded, raw desire pulsing through her veins. She’d known their arguments would be all-consuming, but never imagined them to exceed her expectations like this. Hermione shivered, praying that he would finally give into his lust and take her roughly on the counter, leaving her with purple bruises in the shape of his fingertips, marking her as his. She’d wear them with pride, knowing it was his infatuation that led him to do it.

Lowering his head, face just inches from hers, she could almost taste his lips against hers. “That’s not good enough,” he whispered. “I’ve been here for over a month, Granger. And the only person I’ve seen is you. At the very least, you could provide a letter from them or _something_ – but you haven’t. So, tell me, _where are they?_ ”

The fiery passion coursing through her flared, morphing abruptly back into fury. He _still_ didn’t get it.

Her arms remained pinned down by his strong grip and, however angry she was with him, she couldn’t resist the feel of his fingers on her. She tried to calm herself, but she was just so hurt.

She’d been meticulous, and _thoughtful_. She’d given him time and space. And he had the audacity to bring up his _parents?_

She knew her emotions were slipping rapidly out of her control, but, in that moment, she just didn’t care. “ _Why_ am I not enough for you? Why would you need _anybody_ else?”

Draco was silent, staring at her in disbelief. “What?” His grip on her arms loosened and he inched backwards.

Panic quickly took root within her. She pushed down her anger, her mind whirling. She needed to fix this.

She could Obliviate him... but she’d rather not go to such an extreme.

“I just mean,” she started, “I’ve been assigned to keep an eye on you full time. There’s reason to believe that Voldemort is looking for you – so I need to be here at all times, just in case. I’m sorry for snapping at you but, well, it’s a big assignment.”

He looked sceptical. “But aren’t _you_ on the Dark Lord’s radar? Isn’t that just going to make things worse?”

She nodded. “I faked my death to ensure Voldemort no longer saw me as a problem. It’s better this way.” 

What she didn’t mention was that she had left a trail of her own blood in her childhood home to trick the Order into believing her dead. Harry and Ron had begun asking too many questions, noticing her absences every weekend, regaling her with plans for Horcrux hunting and other such nonsense.

Now that she had Draco, she no longer saw the point in wasting her time in some war. They were merely teenagers after all, it wasn’t _her_ responsibility.

So she had Obliviated her parents and convinced them to move to Australia, faking her own death in the process.

He still looked unsure, but he removed his grip from her arms. His gaze was inscrutable, his eyes calculating. 

She missed the heat of his soft fingers already, the way his biceps bulged from the exertion.

“Can I at least request a letter from my mother? Something to let me know she’s safe?” he asked, his voice cautious. 

She wondered if something she’d said had moved him – perhaps he was finally beginning to understand the scope of their situation.

“I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t you go back and read, or something? I was going to make some eggs. Alright?” 

He nodded and made his way back into the lounge. She exhaled as he retreated, feeling utterly exhausted from the short exchange.

She went into the kitchen, quickly grabbing the Daily Prophet from where it lay magically hidden behind a cabinet. Although Draco shouldn’t be able to find it, after their _discussion_ she decided the risk wasn’t worth it.

She glanced at the headline before her: _THE END OF THE MALFOY LINE – NARCISSA AND LUCIUS MALFOY FOUND BRUTALLY MURDERED AFTER THE DEATH OF THEIR SON._

Hermione carefully placed the newspaper into a metal bin, and, with a whispered ‘ _Incendio_ ’, the words went up in flames.

* * *

Something about their interaction that day had left her feeling insatiable that night. As she lay in bed, hand between her thighs, her mind flashed with images of Draco but she was still unable to find her release.

She knew it was likely due to the fact that he had touched her so passionately, that she now knew the precise way his fingers felt against her. 

While her own fingers had been sufficient for a time, they now seemed small and dainty compared to his. She yearned for him in a way even the poets and dreamers didn’t seem to fathom.

Eventually, she gave up and tried to sleep, but, instead, ended up tossing and turning. Frustration bubbled within her as each hour passed with no reprieve. 

She needed him. She needed to feel his arms around her, or, at the very least, to feel his heartbeat next to hers.

She had an idea.

Hermione _screamed_. Again and again.

Draco eventually came in, his gait slow, fingers rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What the fuck Granger? It’s three in the morning.”

She forced herself to shake, to draw the covers over her. But the sight of him in her bedroom sent a thrill through her. “I’m sorry – I…” she stammered.

“What?” he asked. He looked bored, but she suspected he was simply nervous.

She wallowed. “I had a nightmare.”

He rolled his eyes and made to leave.

“Wait,” she called out. 

He paused and slowly turned. “What?”

She opened her mouth and closed it. “I shouldn’t ask. It’s... weird. Nevermind.”

This was a gamble, of course; would his curiosity outweigh his desire for sleep? She knew he was an innately curious person – it was one of the many things they shared.

“What is it?” he asked, roughly exhaling.

She breathed heavily, widening her eyes. “I – I’m uncomfortable saying this, but… this used to happen a lot at school. And, when it did, I would share a bed with Harry or Ron. Obviously it didn’t mean anything, but having someone asleep next to me… well, it helped.”

She tried to look vulnerable, clutching her duvet and drifting her eyes past Draco. As though this were the last thing she wanted.

He looked incredulous. “You want me to sleep in the bed with you?” 

She closed her eyes momentarily. “I don’t want _you_ to. I’m just saying having another person in the bed helps. Look, it’s fine, I’ll just keep having nightmares…”

They’d been in close quarters for a month and, whilst she knew he wasn’t consciously at the point where he could admit his feelings for her, she believed they’d reached a point where he didn’t wish to see her needlessly suffer.

“I can expand the bed,” she offered. “Look, I know it’s uncomfortable, but…” she trailed off.

He looked wary, his eyes calculating. 

She wondered if he got nightmares too. She imagined him waking up in a sweat and asking her to apply a Cooling Charm. They could tell each other about their fears – what haunts their dreams at night.

“Enlarge the bed – do not come near me,” he ordered. “And I’m only doing this because I can’t stand to hear your screams.”

She was elated. _This_ , if anything, showed how much he cared for her. That he’d do this for her.

Magically enlarging the bed, she moved to the edge of the mattress, looking demurely away from him. She imagined they’d likely wake up entwined together, unsure who’s limbs belonged to who. Perhaps he’d even press his erection against her, unconsciously rubbing it along her back.

However, when she woke up the next morning, she was disappointed to find the opposite side of the bed empty.

But, no matter.

Their journey was only just beginning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoy this chapter - can't believe we're over halfway through now!
> 
> Thanks as always to [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan) for being a wonderful Beta.
> 
> Next update will be the 4th of March.

Hermione sat up abruptly, awoken by an obnoxious ringing in her ears - a warning that something was disturbing one of her wards.

“Shit,” she mumbled, tearing off the duvet and racing downstairs in just her pyjamas.

The door was wide open and she let out an exasperated cry, stomping onto the dewy lawn. It was barely sunrise and she had fallen asleep only a few hours ago, having spent so long tossing and turning – mind filled with fantasies of Draco in her bed.

She found him on the edge of the property, his fingers gripping his hair. He kept running up and down the length of the garden, yelling as he did so.

“Draco?” she called out as she reached him.

“Granger,” he spat, breathless. “What is this? I just wanted to go for a walk this morning.” He pointed towards the invisible barrier he couldn’t get past.

She seethed internally; what could he possibly want that existed outside of their cottage? What more could she possibly give him?

She steadied her breath, hoping to come off as calm and collected. “Draco,” she started; she had begun calling him by his first name a week earlier. He’d seemed surprised at first, but no longer twitched when he heard it. She wondered if he found the syllables soothing, as she imagined ‘ _Hermione_ ’ would sound from his lips. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I told you. I just wanted to go for a walk – ”

“Then why are you trying to leave the property?” she asked, her voice squeaking slightly as she failed to keep her anger in check. “And why did you feel the need to go on a walk at – what time is it anyway? Not even six in the morning?”

She felt herself pale as a horrible fear pooled deep in her gut – was he trying to leave?

But that didn’t make sense. He was in serious danger outside of their cottage, and she truly believed they were getting along. She felt her breath hitch and a weight push against the back of her eyes at the thought that he’d want to _leave_ her.

He darted his eyes around, looking slightly panicked. “I just – I was feeling claustrophobic is all.” He brushed a hand through his blonde tresses, raising his v-neck shirt to show an inch of his torso. 

Hermione’s ire faded at the sight of him so frazzled. That must be it, she thought, he wouldn’t lie to her. He’d woken up and simply felt... out of sorts?

“It’s too dangerous Draco, I’m sorry,” she said, her heart rate finally calming.

He pressed his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “And why can’t I leave the property?”

Hermione blinked. “I told you before, the wards – ”

He cut her off, his tone biting, “Yes, you mentioned there were wards. But I assumed that was to keep people _out_ not to keep me in. What am I – a prisoner?”

She frowned. “Is it – is there a problem with the cottage? I understand you wanted to go for a walk but... you know this is all for your own safety, right?”

He narrowed his eyes at her and crossed his arms over his chest. “How is it for _my_ safety that I can’t leave?” he asked.

Her lower lip quivered at the mere thought of him leaving. Why would he worry about such things? _She_ was here, what more did he need?

She tried to keep the hurt look off her face but couldn’t stop her eyes from watering. “It’s, uh, a precaution. Because you have the Dark Mark. The worry is that Voldemort could use it to try and summon you and you would unknowingly leave.”

Draco took a step back and eyed her carefully. She felt for him once more – he must be so scared, she realised. He probably really _did_ just need some air. She was being ridiculous to think he’d ever want to leave her.

“Alright,” he said, swallowing. “Is there a way to make an exception so I can get out?”

Hermione sighed and gave him a soft smile. “I’m sorry, there’s not. How about we go back in, okay?”

He nodded and she caught the strange look he gave her out of the corner of her eye.

* * *

Despite Draco’s reassurances that he had simply wanted some fresh air that morning, Hermione remained on edge for the rest of the day – reluctant to let him out of her sight for more than a few moments.

She couldn’t understand why it was taking him so long to admit his feelings for her. Yes, they were new and intense and different, but he would be _so_ much happier if he just let them in, accepted them. She knew he was upset with her for abandoning him so much in the early stages of their relationship, but surely he wouldn’t try to leave her because of that?

The sound of creaking floorboards behind her made her jump and she spun around; it was Draco.

“Can I talk to you… please, Granger?” he asked.

She nodded. He looked tired, pensive perhaps?

“I wanted to – to say sorry,” he started, “for this morning… I shouldn’t have wandered off like that. I, erm, well, I know you worry about me.”

Hermione stared up at him with wide eyes. He was _apologising_? Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest; in all her years of watching him, she had _never_ seen him apologise to anyone. She wanted to speak but was so overcome with emotion that her mouth had entirely dried up. 

Swallowing hard, Draco continued, “I just really like you, and I got scared. I’ve never been very good with, erm, commitment… and I wasn’t sure how to respond to these feelings.”

It sounded as though he had rehearsed the entire speech and she smiled; it must have taken so much to put himself out there like this, he had to have been so nervous.

She shook her head, _how_ could she have doubted him? “It’s okay, I get it,” she said softly. “It’s just been difficult for me, not knowing what you want? I’ve tried my best to make you happy here…”

“Granger,” he murmured, the low timbre of his voice making her shiver. “I want – ”

Taking a step toward him, she breathed, “Yes?”

Hermione’s hands trembled. _This was it,_ this was _finally_ it. She’d waited so many years for this moment that she could hardly find it in herself to retain any anger about his earlier outburst. Her mind swam with images of the two of them together. Together at last.

She was standing so close to him it was intoxicating, and she felt so safe, cocooned within his scent.

He gazed down at her, pupils blown and glazed. “You, Gra – _Hermione_ , I want you.”

 _Oh Merlin_ , the sound of her given name from his lips sent a rush of heat through her. Her heart pounded and her pulse thrummed – the sensations almost too much to bear.

“ _Draco_ ,” she gasped, pressing herself even closer to him.

He lowered his head and pushed his mouth to hers, swallowing her moans. His kisses became gradually more insistent as he dragged his teeth against her bottom lip; pain mixed with pleasure, it was perfect.

Suddenly, he spun them around, pushing Hermione firmly towards the wall, and she gripped him tightly. She had wanted rough, but this felt aggressive. She stared up into his eyes and the darkness she’d seen there before looked more like hatred than lust.

“Dra – ” she started, but he shoved her backwards.

She heard the loud _thud_ , before realising what had happened. Draco had slammed her head into the wall and a bead of hot blood trickled down the side of her forehead. She stumbled, struggling to remain upright as her vision blurred.

When she finally refocused, he was gone.

Hermione scrambled frantically for her wand, and, upon finding the pockets of her robe empty, began to panic. Logically, she knew that he couldn’t escape the property, even with her wand – but that didn’t ease the pounding in her ears, or her racing heart.

Though she was angry with him for his betrayal, her main concern in this moment was keeping him _safe_.

Racing out the front door, she found him pacing up and down the garden again, but, this time, waving her wand around in wild sweeping motions. She paused and watched him silently – his blonde hair was perfectly tousled, cheeks lightly flushed, and the intense expression on his face made her shiver.

The feeling of blood seeping from her head wound onto her lip reminded her of his ruse. She just didn’t understand. After everything they had been through – after all she had _done_ for him… Why was he still acting this way? 

An errant thought took root in the back of her mind: what if he didn’t love her?

She swallowed, her head still light, and her stomach in knots. She swiped a hand across the gash atop of her head, inadvertently brushing blood across her forehead and curls. 

Once she felt calm enough, she approached him.

“Draco,” she said carefully, trying to keep her voice even. “I told you before that the wards are all tied to me – you can’t leave by yourself.”

His eyes were murderous, her wand shaking in his hand. “Why won’t this wand work for me?” he spat.

She took an involuntary step back; even knowing her wand would never work for him, the sheer anger oozing out of him terrified her. She knew he had a temper, it was something they shared, but she had never imagined it affecting her quite like this.

“It’s spelled to only obey me,” she squeaked. “Why are you doing this?” She wanted to touch him, to remind him of their connection. Surely he had felt it? That spark when they touched?

“Why am I doing this?” He shook his head and stalked up to her. “Because I need to leave! And you – I don’t know what’s happening here but you’re fucking crazy.”

Hermione’s nostrils flared at the word crazy. 

She wasn’t crazy – she was _smart._ She was self-assured. She knew what she wanted and was willing to put in the effort to get it.

“I’m not crazy.” She ground her teeth. “There’s something between us. You have to admit – ”

“For the _Brightest Witch of Her Age_ , you actually aren’t all that clever, Granger,” he snapped. “You _really_ thought I was falling for you?”

She was trapped in a nightmare; caught between anger and betrayal. She tried to rationalise it, to understand why he would say such things.

He still didn’t get it.

She shook her head and said softly, “You just don’t understand.”

Even without her wand, Hermione could cast a non-verbal Full Body-Bind Curse, and watched sadly as his limbs snapped together and he fell heavily to the ground.

She was exhausted, overwhelmed by emotion. When they’d first moved in together _of course_ she could understand his reluctance, his fear, but her patience had worn thin, and now he was trying to manipulate her so that he could leave? Draco couldn’t live the rest of his life denying the connection the two of them shared – that wasn’t fair to him _or_ her.

Things were going to have to change.

She exhaled, nodding to herself as a new plan formed in her mind. It wasn’t ideal, but it certainly had its advantages. She retrieved her wand and levitated Draco’s frozen body, his wide eyes staring at her with misplaced ire, and carefully moved him back into their cottage – into her room.

Hermione needed to put him somewhere that she could keep an eye on him, but also a place where he would be comfortable. She laid him gently on the bed, ignoring the faint grunts escaping his throat as she magically bound his wrists to the headboard with silk restraints.

“Look, Draco,” she started calmly, “I understand this is hard for you, I really do. You’ve lived your entire life one way, and now everything is different. But _this_ is your life now.”

His limbs vibrated and his eyes welled with tears. She truly didn’t understand why he was being so unreasonable.

“Until you can prove to me that you’ll stop risking your own safety, you’re going to have to stay here where I can ensure you can’t get into any trouble,” she finished, holding his gaze.

Hermione pressed her fingertips to the side of his face and sighed. Everything had been going so well – it was such a shame it had come to this. “I’m going to unfreeze you now. But you understand that there’s no use in yelling or trying to escape, right?” 

She smiled sadly.

“I’m doing this for _you_ , Draco.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME TO THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER 😊
> 
> However, as you will be able to see, there are in fact ten chapters promised. We both had different ideas about the ending of this fic and so decided to gift you with two divergent epilogues 😈
> 
> Next Thursday we'll post the final chapter, and the following week both epilogues will be uploaded! ❤️
> 
> Thanks as always [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan/pseuds/Astrangefan) for being a fabulous beta!

“Good morning.” Hermione said with a smile, returning to their bedroom and setting down the tray with Draco’s breakfast: french toast and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

He glared at her, pulling uselessly at the binds against his wrists, but otherwise seemed unable to speak.

She frowned, worried that there was something wrong. She’d kept him restrained to her bed for almost a week now, and, typically at this point in their day, he would sputter obscenities at her. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, ignoring his wince. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

He huffed and still refused to speak.

“Are you ill? You don’t feel warm… maybe it’s something else? Oh no,” she rambled, considering all the different ailments that could have befallen her beloved.

He grunted out, “I’m not sick, you fucking idiot.”

Hermione’s face fell and her nose flared. “I’m just trying to keep you safe and healthy,” she insisted.

Draco let out a dry chuckle. “Safe? Healthy?” he spat. “I’m bound against my will, you crazy bitch.”

Hermione’s heart beat erratically at his malicious, hateful words. Her eyes flashed and she slapped him before she could stop herself. There was an audible thud as the back of his head hit the headboard. She stared at the offending hand and shook her head, upset with herself for losing control.

He turned to face her, wincing, his eyes dark. “As I said, you’re a crazy bitch.” He looked _so_ angry. 

She took a few calming breaths; she just absolutely hated the word _crazy_. She wasn’t crazy. She loved him, and, she knew, despite his insistence to the contrary, that deep down he loved her too.

She cleared her throat and attempted to smile, ignoring his last pejorative. “Well, I’m glad you’re not sick,” she told him.

He rolled his eyes, refusing to say anything further.

The entire situation tore at Hermione’s very soul. He seemed so miserable, and she knew just how to make him happy, but he refused to listen.

Hermione grabbed the plate with french toast, carefully cutting up a few pieces for him.

“If you took off these restraints – ” he once more tugged against the bindings “ – I’d be able to feed myself.”

She scooted closer to him on the bed, dipping a piece of french toast into syrup and holding it out for him. “I really don’t mind, Draco,” she told him, holding the fork insistently a few centimetres from his mouth.

He pursed his lips, looking at the pastry as if it were offensive, and she worried for a moment that he would refuse, until his stomach made a loud rumble. He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. 

She smiled softly as she slowly fed him, her breath hitching as his lips closed around the fork and he took the bite into his mouth. She let her fork hover there for a moment as she watched him chew and swallow, a drizzle of syrup escaping the corner of his lip.

She gently wiped her thumb over his mouth to clean him up, ignoring the way he glared at her and tried to turn his head away. He needed her, whether or not he wanted to admit it; he needed her to keep him safe, well fed, and happy.

“Draco,” she started after a few minutes. “I want to talk about us again.”

She had tried every day to help him understand that once he acknowledged his feelings, allowed them to be together, she would be able to trust him outside of this room. But every day, he seemed to get more and more resistant… it just didn't make any sense to her.

He paused mid-chew, and his eyes bulged. He swallowed. “I’d rather not.” 

He spoke so primly it reminded her of watching him in class. Oh, how she admired the fanciful way he’d flourish his quill, and how he’d run his fingers through his hair when he knew the correct answer to a question.

“Why do you do that?” he snapped.

She frowned. “Why do I do what?”

“You stare at me and… zone out. It’s weird.” He eyed her warily.

Her neck turned red and she reprimanded herself for daydreaming once more. “Nothing, Draco. I was just thinking about us,” she paused, recovering quickly, “and how much we have in common.”

He snorted. “Here we go again.”

She tilted her head to the side, ignoring his muttering. “We’re both intelligent, received excellent grades at school, and, more than that, neither of us truly fit into our assigned House,” she explained succinctly.

He remained silent. He’d do this from time to time, simply ignore her. 

“So you agree then?” she asked.

He shut his eyes momentarily. “Will you stop talking if I do?”

Hermione’s lips formed a straight line and she felt her ire return in full force. She yelled, “What the fuck do I have to do to get you to see the truth, Draco? This is your life now – _I_ am your life now. Can’t you just…” she trailed off.

His eyes were wide, his hands shaking.

“Oh gosh, I didn’t mean to yell or scare you, I’m so sorry Draco,” she said softly. 

Despite her reassurances, he still looked frightened so she pushed the plate away and sidled up to him, wrapping an arm around his torso and nuzzling at his neck. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. His pulse raced and she squeezed him tighter, urging him to calm. He was so warm, so strong for her, and she wished she could remove his bindings so he could squeeze her back – but he couldn’t be trusted, not yet.

“I just love you so much, Draco. Once you realise what we have, you’ll feel better, I promise.”

* * *

The weeks wore on, and though Draco was obstinate at times, Hermione was determined not to give up on him. She felt confident that they were making progress; just the other day, he had said ‘good morning’ to her when he woke up. 

Those two words had meant so much. It made her realise all of her hard work was not in vain – that he was truly coming around.

Nearly a month after Draco’s escape attempts, Hermione was actually feeling quite positive about their future.

“Good morning,” she murmured as she awoke one morning, curled around him. She rubbed his abdomen, feeling him tense up. She smiled internally, pleased to have such a profound effect on him.

“Morning, Hermione,” he mumbled, his gravelly voice sending shivers down her spine.

“How did you sleep last night?” she asked, looking up to meet his gaze.

His eyes softened the moment they made contact, and she felt certain she would never survive another morning without waking up to his grey gaze. “Good,” he told her with the ghost of a smile.

“I’ll go get you some breakfast, alright?” She squeezed his hand and made for the door when he stopped her.

“Hermione!” he called out. 

Her heart soared at the sound of her name. He’d started using it more frequently over the last week, but to hear him shout it so easily, to recall her back, filled her with unquantifiable hope. “Yes, Draco?” She turned back towards him.

He smiled so brightly at her as he said, “I was thinking about what you’ve been saying about us…” He looked pensive, his smile faltering.

Hermione sat on the bed, running her hand up and down his leg. “I’m here, Draco. You can tell me anything. It’s me.”

This was it, she realised. He’d been warming up to her for weeks now, finally listening to all of the reasons why they would be amazing together. 

“I want to believe you.... I think it makes a lot of sense – us being together. But how can I truly know if I can’t hold you? Can’t touch you?” he said softly, his lower lip quivering. 

She frowned, considering the ramifications of removing his bindings. She’d only just been thinking about how she longed for him to touch her... and she _did_ have precautions in place to ensure he didn’t escape, of course. 

“Alright,” she told him with a small smile.

His eyes lit up and he seemed so… so, happy. 

She quickly released his binds but remained on the bed, simply watching him, waiting. He grabbed at his wrists, closing his eyes as he stretched his arms and legs. He cracked his long fingers and she imagined the feel of them on her, _in_ her.

“Thank you,” he said. 

She nodded and crept closer to him, watching as he continued to stretch out his limbs. She wanted him to make the first move though – now that he could. She raised her gaze to meet his; they were now only inches apart. 

Draco blinked a few times, his breath quickening. They were so close… if he would only reach out… 

She took his hand in hers. “Draco…” she started, when he leaned forward and kissed her.

This wasn’t like the time he had tried to trick her, or like when she had kissed Blaise Polyjuiced as Draco. No, this was something else entirely.

His lips were tentative, practically trembling against hers. He was nervous, so she deepened the kiss, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck and bringing them closer together. Finally, his hand tentatively reached out, lightly grasping her side.

“Draco,” she whispered against his mouth. “You don’t have to be afraid – you can touch me now.” 

She lay kisses along his neck, relishing the way his breath quickened when she sucked in at just the right spot, how he shuddered when her hand pressed along his side. 

Finally, he tucked his hand underneath her shirt, drawing circles along her back. He was _teasing_ her with his subtle touches and the light graze of his lips. She was in agony – her skin was hot, her body aching for him.

She wanted him to take the lead, but she couldn’t bear it anymore. She broke off the kiss for just a moment and swung her leg around him, straddling him on the bed. His eyes went wide and his brows furrowed momentarily.

“Is everything alright, Draco?” she asked, knitting her fingers in his gorgeous blond locks.

He swallowed and smiled. “Ye – yeah. I’m good.”

Hermione relaxed and kissed him, moaning in relief when her aching core pressed against his –

She pulled away from him and frowned, looking down at his groin. “Why aren’t you, um, excited?” 

He looked down at where their hips met and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand – what’s wrong?” 

Her heart raced and blood rushed to her cheeks as she tried to consider what could possibly have prevented him from becoming hard for her. 

“It’s – it’s – ” he stammered, eyes wide.

Her chest heaved and she felt wave upon wave of anger sweeping through her. “What’s _wrong_ with you? You told me – ”

He grabbed her hand, interrupting her rant, “It’s not that. I have _really_ strong feelings for you, Hermione. It’s just…” he took a deep breath, “it’s hard – ” he squeezed his eyes shut “ – I just think that being here, trapped in this room, well... it’s made me quite stressed. Perhaps if we could go somewhere…” he trailed off.

She shifted backwards, balling her hands into fists, biting hard on her lower lip. “You don’t love me at all, do you? This is just another attempt at escaping – ”

“No,” he assured her, unsteadily moving towards her, eyes wide. “I swear, you’ve convinced me. I do lo – love you, yeah? I just... look, why don’t we go outside together?”

His declaration of love lingered in her mind, the words echoing softly. She relaxed and smiled at him softly.

“You promise – you promise you won’t try anything?” she asked. She so wanted to believe him.

He looked her in the eye, his gaze soft. “I promise."

* * *

They decided to leave the cottage and go to a nearby park for a picnic that afternoon. 

Hermione watched him preparing in the kitchen, putting together sandwiches and pastries for them. It was like an image straight out of her dreams – Draco doing something so thoughtful for _her_.

She couldn’t stop herself from wrapping herself around him while he meticulously cut the stems off some fresh strawberries. She clutched his waist, pressing her nose against his neck, and breathing him in. He tensed slightly, but then relaxed, offering her a slight smile before returning to his task.

He insisted on getting everything set up for their picnic; he wanted everything to be perfect for their first date.

It was a short walk to the park, and Hermione watched as he spread out the picnic blanket on the grass, carefully placing their food and crockery onto the tartan fabric.

It was absolutely perfect. The sandwiches were delightful and, while perhaps Hermione had to carry the conversation, that wasn’t surprising. After all, he had been limited to their cottage over the last couple of months for his safety. 

As she reached for a chocolate covered strawberry, Draco suddenly startled and got to his feet. “Oh!” he cried. “I have a surprise for you.”

She cocked her head and smiled, _this_ was the Draco she knew was hidden beneath the hard exterior. “Okay?”

He gave her a peck on the cheek. “It’s just over here, I won’t be long.”

As she watched his retreating form, she tried not to pay attention to the doubts seeping their way into her mind – those insidious ‘what if’ worries. She desperately wanted to trust him, believe he had finally accepted their love for one another, but… she couldn’t deny her lingering uncertainty.

When he hadn’t returned after five minutes she felt her heart drop.

Reluctantly reaching for her wand, Hermione laid the vine wood length against her palm and, drawing from the magic of her wards, watched as it moved to point in the direction of Draco’s location. After a moment, a small, shimmering number appeared – he was still within a one mile radius of her, but it was clear he had been trying to escape. _Again_. 

She followed the path her wand suggested and found herself in a small clearing. Draco stood with his back to her – glancing around as if deciding where to go next.

“ _What_ are you doing?” she hissed.

He spun around, eyes wide. His hand jerked as though reaching for his wand, before remembering he no longer had one. “Nothing,” he choked out.

She didn’t wait for him to speak, for more lies to spew from his mouth. “ _Incarcerous_ ,” she muttered angrily, watching as thick ropes bound Draco’s limbs together. 

Rage thrummed through her veins as she Apparated them back to their cottage, and made short work levitating him back into their bedroom.

Returning downstairs, Hermione paced around the living room, heart pounding, fists clenched tightly at her sides. She struggled to control her breathing as waves of anger washed over her. _How could he do this to her_ again _? After everything they’d been through over the last month_.

She felt the hot burn of tears well up behind her eyes. What else did he want? What more could she do for him? She had given him everything – time and time again – she had _trusted_ him, even after he had given her reason not to.

While she had known that he would struggle to accept his feelings, she hadn’t realised the problem would be quite so long-lasting. She felt a pulse of hatred towards his parents for making him feel as though he had to hide the way he felt. Then a small smile crept across her face – she was _so_ pleased they were dead.

Hermione came to an abrupt stop, suddenly realising where her pacing had led her to – the secret room she kept well warded and hidden, containing a variety of items she couldn’t trust Draco with at the moment.

It was also home to something she had desperately hoped would never need to be used.

_Amortentia._

His familiar scent hit her as she opened the door, and an involuntary moan escaped her lips. She knew it was risky to leave the lid of such a potent potion slightly ajar, but she couldn’t help relishing the feeling it gave her each time she walked in.

She carefully lifted the delicate glass vial and gazed into the liquid’s mother-of-pearl sheen, considering her options. Although giving Draco doses of Amortentia was the last thing she wanted to do, he had left her no choice. All she would be doing was giving him a helping hand with his feelings, and, once he had finally come to accept them, she could wean him off.

Gripping the potion tighter, she came to a decision – it was for his own good.

Hermione quietly closed the door and re-warded the room, before transfiguring the vial into a glass of lemonade and making her way upstairs to their bedroom. 

He flinched when he saw her, arms jerking in their restraints. It made her sad to see him in such a state, but bolstered her resolve that she was doing the right thing.

“I don’t understand Draco – why do you keep resisting us?” she asked hesitantly.

He flared his nostrils, his breaths unsteady. “I just want to leave.” He sounded desperate.

She shook her head, still unable to comprehend why he was being so unreasonable. “I’ve done _everything_ for you. I abandoned the Order, I faked my own death, I even…” she trailed off, shaking her head.

His eyes went wide. “You – you what?”

She closed her eyes momentarily before nodding. “I’ll tell you everything, okay?” She sat on the bed and offered him the lemonade. “Here,” she said with a small smile, “it’s going to be a long talk – I’ve brought you something to drink.”

Draco looked hesitant, mistrust flaring in his eyes, but he nodded all the same.

As he parted his lips, she placed a loving hand against his cheek and carefully poured the liquid into his mouth. 

He swallowed and she couldn't help a shiver of excitement ripple up her spine: it wouldn’t take long before he was his true self.

She placed the glass on the bedside table and watched his breathing even out, body relaxing into the mattress. His eyes slowly fluttered open and he looked at her with a glazed, love-filled expression.

Her heart flipped as she watched him, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks from the intensity of his gaze.

“Hermione,” he whispered fervently, moving to reach out for her, but the binds restrained his movements.

She frantically unbound his wrists, tears streaming down her face as she grappled with the silk. The moment he was free, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, rubbing small circles against her back. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

She nodded into his chest. “Can I… um, can I lie next to you?”

He laughed gently, as though the answer were obvious, and shifted across the bed. “Of course.”

She could feel tears welling up again as she curled herself into Draco’s side, absorbing his warmth. It was perfect – everything she had ever imagined, and more.

The potion had allowed him to be himself, and now, finally, they could both be happy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to our beta [Astrangefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrangefan), who, after reading this chapter, is probably regretting her decision to be associated with this fic... 😉

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open as the early morning sun began trickling into the bedroom, and she shivered with pleasure at the feel of Draco’s hard length pressed against her back. Rolling her hips, she elicited a deep growl from his throat and smirked, pleased he was awake and ready for her.

“Turn around,” he whispered into her ear.

The moment she did, his lips crashed against hers and she moaned, desperately trying to pull him closer. Still naked from the previous night’s lovemaking, she felt her nipples harden as they brushed his chest and his responding groan vibrated through her.

Draco moved his hand between them, trailing a burning path of desire down her stomach to her core. She whimpered as he teased between her thighs, his fingers gently testing her wetness and drawing it up to lightly circle her clit.

“More, Draco,” she pleaded, “ _please_.” 

He chuckled and slid two fingers inside her, gliding in and out at an agonising pace.

“Baby,” she cried out, squirming against him. “I need you so badly.” 

He pressed his lips to hers again, sucking on her lower lip while his fingers continued to work her at their steady pace. “I just want to pleasure you all day,” he whispered into her mouth.

She shivered at these words, wondering if his endearments alone could be enough to make her come. 

He gracefully pulled himself on top of her, lining himself against her entrance, and her eyes rolled back as he slowly pushed inside her. She could feel every ridge of his cock as it hit the spots she’d never been able to quite reach with her fingers.

Finally filling her to the hilt, he paused, shifting slightly to look into her eyes. “I love you, Hermione,” he murmured reverently, “so, so much.”

Her heart swelled, and she knew she’d never get tired of hearing those words. “I love you too, Draco.”

Capturing his lips with hers again, he moaned into her mouth and began thrusting – slowly at first, before becoming increasingly hard and fast. “ _Fuck_ , you feel so good,” he groaned, “so fucking tight.”

“I’m close,” she whimpered, feeling the tell-tale tingle resonate deep within her.

He dropped his head to her neck, lightly nipping her heated skin, and slid his hand between her legs to rub circles against her swollen clit. “Come for me,” he murmured, driving his length relentlessly in and out.

She moaned as his movements became more erratic and she could feel him nearing his climax. Her walls fluttered and clenched around him and her body trembled as wave after wave of pleasure soared through her. He joined her almost immediately afterwards, grunting his own pleasure as he spilled into her. 

“ _Gods_ , Draco,” she breathed into his neck. “Don’t move, stay inside me.”

He smiled indulgently, holding her so tightly, as though he were afraid she might disappear.

Eventually, they separated and lay back on the mattress, relaxed and sated, and Hermione reflected on the last year they’d spent together – with Draco taking Amortentia. She had perfected the art of making the potion, and her latest batch had lasted just over twenty-four hours. However, not wanting to risk anything, she would still diligently pour a small dose into his tea each evening.

Ever since that first drop of Amortentia had hit his tongue, life had been perfect – she’d never seen him so happy and content. They were rarely, if ever, apart from each other, and they’d often joke how even five minutes felt like too long. It was exactly as she had imagined – the two of them together, forever.

His fingers brushed up her side and he murmured into her ear, “Why don’t we just stay in bed all day?”

She chuckled; he said this every morning – all he wanted was her. She’d known he felt this way all along, but to hear him say the words out loud sent a shiver through her. “I wish we could, my love, but then we’d starve to death.”

He kissed her, his fingers drifting down between her legs again. “I have all the sustenance I need right here,” he growled.

Her breath hitched, his words echoing in her mind, when she suddenly noticed his fingers had frozen on the inside of her thigh. She looked into his eyes, catching the glassy, glazed over stare. “Draco?” she said softly. 

These moments of dissociation happened occasionally, and were simply a small side effect of using Amortentia over a long period of time. But his lapses were worth it, if it meant that he could admit his feelings for her and they could finally be happy.

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “Hermione?” He furrowed his brows for a moment before relaxing them, a serene smile once more taking shape.

She squeezed his hand and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Why don’t we go downstairs and get some breakfast?”

He looked at her as though she were the only person in the world, his eyes full of love and admiration. “Of course, baby. You have such amazing ideas.” 

* * *

“Why do you read that, sweetheart? It always makes you sad,” Draco called out from where he was preparing their breakfast in the kitchen.

She let her gaze wander up from the Daily Prophet article about the efficiency of Voldemort’s rule over wizarding Britain, instead admiring Draco as he diligently turned the bacon over in the frying pan. After she had once mentioned offhandedly how handsome he looked in grey joggers and an apron, he made a point to wear the ensemble whenever cooking breakfast for the two of them.

His focus on her wants and desires was just one of the many things she loved so much about him.

“I wish I could,” she said sadly. “But while we’re safe in our cottage, it’s important to remain aware of what’s going on in the wizarding world.”

He brought their plates to the table and sat across from her. He frowned for a moment. “Is there something else going on? Are you in danger, Hermione?” His eyes darted across her face, fear etched into them.

Her heart soared; she was so moved by his words – the way he always wanted to protect her. She grabbed his hand. “Of course not, Draco. No one knows we’re alive, and as long as we stay here, we’re safe. And besides, I was only sad that one time… And you made it all better.”

She recalled the day she had read about Harry and Ron’s deaths. She’d been surprised by her reaction, the way her stomach dropped at the words, but one touch from Draco reminded her of what truly mattered. 

Voldemort or Harry – it didn’t matter who won, as long as she and Draco could be together.

He visibly relaxed. “All I want is for you to be happy, Hermione,” he said earnestly.

It was amazing how they had already been together, properly, for a year now, and yet she still felt as though she loved him more with each passing day. 

She smiled and changed the subject. “These are wonderful, Draco. You’re such a fantastic cook,” she cooed, taking another bite of her eggs.

He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “I’m only good at it because _you_ taught me, love.”

She knew from experience that she could just sit and gaze into his grey eyes all day, but she liked their routine. Standing, she levitated their plates to the sink and felt Draco watch her as she uttered the incantation to wash the dishes. 

Hermione heard his soft footsteps just moments before his hands snaked around her waist, his stubble grazing her cheek. “You look so sexy when you magically do the dishes,” he murmured, pressing himself flush against her.

It didn’t matter how many times he whispered nonsensically in her ear, or how many times his fingers tucked beneath her waistband, she always felt a rush like nothing else.

He tugged at her hip, about to spin her around when she stopped him.

“Do it from behind, Draco. I want it rough,” she murmured, feeling his heart beat rapidly against her back, his breaths quicken.

“Anything you want, baby.” He clutched her hips roughly and she reached back to touch him but he stopped her, whispering in her ear: “Put your hands on the countertop.”

She shivered, standing against the counter, her cunt already soaked from anticipation. She wanted to turn around, to watch him, but he was pressed so close to her she was trapped. 

His fingers brushed her thighs, pushing her momentarily from him, and she heard the familiar sound of material being dragged over skin and tossed to the floor. His hardened cock brushed against her arse and she keened in anticipation, desperate for him to bury himself inside her once again.

“Draco,” she moaned, gripping the counter as he pressed kisses against her neck, his fingers pulling down her blouse, exposing her breasts. 

“Hermione, you’re so perfect,” he moaned in her ear, tucking one hand into her trousers while the other rolled her stiff nipple. She arched her back against his light touches, squirming at the feel of him so close.

He slid off her trousers and knickers, whispering in her ear, “You’re already so wet for me, aren’t you, love?”

She shivered at his words, her wet folds dripping in anticipation. She gasped when he finally drove his cock deep inside her – her fingers white from the tight hold she had on the countertop.

“That’s my good girl,” Draco cooed, grinding his length in and out. His fingers tweaked at her nipple, his teeth grazing the pulsepoint along her neck. He wrapped a hand around her waist, gently stroking her clit.

She writhed against him, hard pressed to keep from reaching back and tugging at his hair or scratching at his thigh. But he knew precisely how to pleasure her, driving into her at just the right angle, his fingers pushing and tweaking in exactly the right way.

“Draco!” she cried out, her entire body vibrating from the intensity of his ministrations. She nearly collapsed as her orgasm took over, only the counter and Draco’s arms kept her upright.

“I’ve got you,” he purred against her neck, continuing to circle her clit as she pulsed around his throbbing cock.

She released a heavy breath, panting and loosening her grip against the counter, as Draco slowly unsheathed himself from her. 

“What are you doing? You haven’t gotten off yet.” She turned to him and grabbed his wrist, urging him not to move.

He smiled, gazing softly at her. “It’s alright, love. As long as you finish, I’m happy.”

Hermione sighed and shook her head, pressing a hand to his cheek. “I want to feel you come inside me,” she pleaded, tugging his hips back towards her. “It’ll make me so happy.”

Draco pressed his length to her entrance once more. “I’ll do anything to make you happy, baby.” 

She exhaled in relief as he drilled into her once more, his grunts growing steadily louder as he found his release.

They stood together, his arms wrapped around her, chin dangling over her shoulder. “I love you so much,” he mumbled in her ear.

She smiled. “I love you too, Draco.” 

* * *

Over the next month, Hermione began to notice subtle changes in her body. The fatigue and bloating she could initially have attributed to other causes, but, when the morning sickness started, she knew the symptoms were all interlinked.

Shivering with excitement, she padded quietly to the bathroom and locked the door – needing a few moments of privacy before, hopefully, sharing some good news with Draco.

She waved her wand in a complex motion, carefully casting the incantation to indicate whether a product of their love was growing inside her. 

A thin, silver line shimmered in the air momentarily, before eight wonderful letters combined to spell a single word.

Squealing, she raced downstairs and into the kitchen to find Draco placing a bowl of porridge on the table for her. 

“Babe?” he asked, worry tainting his voice. “Is everything alright?”

She exhaled, so overwhelmed with his constant concern for her. 

“Everything’s amazing, Draco... 

“I’m pregnant.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr | [CantTouchThis](https://canttouchthis87.tumblr.com/) | [LeilahMoon](https://leilahmoon.tumblr.com/)


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